A Granddaughter's Intuition
by RosiePosie15
Summary: A young preacher is sent to Italy to help revitalize a church, yet finds herself involved in a mystery that began 60 years earlier.


** Hello all! If you took a look at my profile (though you probably shouldn't…it is very dusty from being unused) you will notice that I have written only one story for Harry Potter. A story that has been in my head for 10 years, I started writing then scrapped, then began writing again THREE years ago, then stopped updating last year (I do hope to one day finish what I started). This is mostly due to my new, crazy busy college life and a massive attack of writer's block.**

**With that being said, this story was actually written by me during my freshman year of high school. It was this point in my life that I was always writing, and I would love to get back in that habit again. I am hoping that by sharing a couple of stories I wrote during this time in my life will remind me why I loved writing so much in the first place. **

**Please sit back and enjoy! This is just a simple short story, prompted from an assignment given by my freshman English teacher. The underlined words were what I had to work a story around. Also, please keep in mind that this was 2010 and I was a freshman in high school. That is my disclaimer for anything that doesn't make sense or odd occurrences in this story.**

**A Granddaughter's Intuition**

I had just recently moved to Siena, Italy. I am a preacher and the church sent me here so that I could help one of our sister church's stay afloat during their economic struggle. I'm glad they picked me—it's more beautiful than the travel brochure's pictures. Even though all the buildings and pavement were each a shade of bland brown, the ancient structures had a certain charm that even the oldest building in America couldn't amount to. I was still shaky on my Italian though, something that definitely needed to improve. I had no idea how long I would be here.

The church where I worked was in the Piazza del Campo, which contained a massive clock tower. Whenever I walked through the plaza I couldn't help but feel like Bella Swan. Only the catch was that I was never in a hurry and Edward Cullen wasn't standing inside the tower, waiting for me.

Today was Sunday, and service had concluded an hour ago. The minister of the church was a lively man of 80 years of age who was always positive and chipper. When I first arrived at the airport, he was there to greet me, and to escort me to where I was staying. I was rooming with his granddaughter, Cesca, who was as inviting as her grandfather.

"Miss Giovanni, may I help you?" the wizened minister inquired, peering at me through his glasses from the hall. I was looking at the receipts from our recent bake sale and trying to add up our expenses in the church's study.

"No thank you, sir," I answered with a smile. I noticed that he didn't walk away when my grin faded after a couple moments. Usually he goes to watch the choir practice after he checks up on me.

I glanced up, matching my pearly blue eyes to his grassy green ones. "Is there anything that I may help _you_ with, sir?"

He smiled—his smile could melt even the Devil's heart—and stepped forward into the room. "I'm very glad that you are here, Miss Giovanni. You're an excellent addition to the church. The _bambini_ love your Sunday school lessons and your imaginative mind has led the church in a greater path."

I felt my eyebrows clench together in confusion, but I tried to not let it show. Does this mean that I am not needed anymore? It sounded to me like the preamble of a sincere goodbye. I certainly did not want to leave after only being here for two months. I smiled anyway, trying to put my best acting skills forward. "I'm flattered, sir, but it has really been my pleasure. Your congregation have been so welcoming."

"_Grazie signora_," the minister said, bowing his head. "But there is something that I need help with." He looked me straight in the eye and instead of the kind twinkle that usually resided in his, there was a gleam of hesitant curiosity.

"Sir?"

The minister shut the old, wooden door behind him and then sat himself in a chair in front of the cypress desk that I was sitting at. "Now, you must keep quiet on this. It'll be our little secret." He put his index finger on this lips.

I was battling curiosity inside my head as I followed his lead and put my finger to my lips as well. "Of course, sir," I responded, whispering. "I won't tell a soul."

"_Mille grazie_," he said softly. "I have a reason why I specifically wanted you to come to our church."

"Me? Really?" I took off my reading glasses and set them on the desk. My mouth was hanging open in a wide O.

"Yes. You see Miss Giovanni, I once knew your grandfather, Gregorio Giovanni."

"Grandpa Rio?" I gasped, stunned. Grandpa Rio died last year, on the day of my 19th birthday. He was my favorite relative, and I was much like him. However, he never talked about his days in Italy, before he immigrated to America. "How did you know my grandpa? What does this have to do with me?" I was on the brink of hysterics. What if Minister Salvatore loathed my grandpa, and was seeking revenge through me? I knew it was a silly thought, yet the world is full of surprises.

"Please, don't fret. It wasn't my intention to cause you alarm," the minister said with his hands up, as if in surrender. "Gregorio and I were great friends. It saddened me when he decided to leave for your country."

I grinned and exhaled, expelling all the worry I had within me. "I know how you feel," I told him with empathy. "Grandpa died a year ago. It was horrible."

"Yes, I know," he said, looking down. "It was in all of the local newspapers. Word of death travels fast, even around the world." The minister smiled with that familiar twinkle in his eyes. "He was a beloved man here."

"People still remember him after all these years?" I asked, almost childishly.

"_Si_," he replied. He respectfully let the air still to less than a whisper, in honor of my grandpa. Then he continued. "_Ora,_ like I said before, there's a secret, _un grande segreto._"

"Yes, please tell me," I begged. "Especialy if it deals with my grandpa."

"You see, there is a rare coin, widely believed to have been in the hands of one of Italy's most renowned philosophers. It was in your grandfather's possession before he left. It was a family heirloom and was rumored that the Giovanni's were related to the philosopher."

"Then it could be anywhere in the world now!" I exclaimed, setting my lips. Grandpa could've dropped it, lost it, or accidentally spent it. Grandpa left Italy in the 1950s, and in the 60 years after he left he had to have misplaced it somewhere. He probably also could have mentioned that we might be related to a famous philosopher.

"I've considered that," the minster confessed. "However, I then remembered that the day before Gregorio departed, he was staying in a motel, just so he wouldn't have to say goodbye to his family again. It would have been even harder to leave then."

"Grandpa was always very thoughtful," I mumbled.

The minister tipped his head to acknowledge my comment. "That night, a thief snuck into his room, stealing the coin." I promptly gasped. "We never knew who the thief was. Until now."

I was captivated. Yet angered. How could anyone steal from my grandpa? "Who?"

"His name was Marcus Ciotti. He had a grudge against Gregorio since we were children. As we grew older, that grudge turned into something darker, harsher. He joined the mafia when he was 16 and ordered a hit on Gregorio when he was 19." The minister smirked. "Obviously, the hit wasn't successful."

"Which is great for me," I added, trying to shed light on such a dark topic.

The minister smiled fondly. "Too true."

"Anyway," I said, getting back to business. I desired to know what happened. "Why did Marcus steal the coin?"

"I'm not exactly sure," the minister admitted. "He, too, has passed on so the real reason will forever be unknown. However, my theory is that he wanted to sell it for money. Marcus was a gambler, a bad one at that."

Makes sense to me," I decided. "That's why Las Vegas has pawn shops!"

The minister laughed at my joke, then cleared his throat. "Now back to you, and your importance. My first reason for bringing you here, of course besides your amazing ability to help revitalize old churches, is actually an act of greed. I wanted to meet the granddaughter of my departed friend. My other reason is that your family has always been intuitive and smart. I knew that you would have the same gifts and thorough family intuition. You could figure out where the coin is."

I couldn't help but let out an irritated sigh. He was counting on _family intuition._ Oh please, spare me! As a child I couldn't even find the cookie jar, which was always hidden in the plate cabinet.

However, I also didn't want to let Minister Salvatore down. "Where do you think I should start?" I asked, trying to seem optimistic.

"At home. I'm referring to your home with my Cesca." He noted the confused look on my face. "Those apartments weren't always apartments. They used to be a motel, until renovations took place in the 1980s. It was the motel that your grandfather stayed in when Marcus stole the coin."

"But sir," I urged, impatiently. "I don't mean to seem argumentative, but Marcus stole the coin. It's gone."

"That's the second part of the story!" the minister twittered. "Just as Marcus took the coin from Gregorio's nightstand, I came into his motel room. I wanted to surprise him with a farewell gift. He gave me the spare key to his room," he added. "As I entered the bedroom, I noticed the figure of a man crouched near Gregorio. Something glinted off of the full moon's light and I noticed the coin in the man's hand." He clenched his fists, getting animated.

"What did you do next?" I inquired. I subconsciously reached for my antique comb and twisted it into my hair while the minister coughed and cleared his throat. I wanted my full attention onto the minister's story, not pushing hair out of my face.

"_Scusarsi_," he said, putting away his handkerchief. "Next, I screamed at the thief, which, as you can probably tell, woke Gregorio up."

"Sorry to interrupt you, sir," I chimed. "But why aren't you calling the thief Marcus?"

"I didn't know that it was Marcus then. He concealed himself with a mask," the minister explained grimly. "The mob taught him well."

"That makes sense. Please continue."

"Right. So then, the man tried to escape from the window, but I, believe it or not, bounded over to tackle the thief. Unfortunately, he got too much of a head start and dashed down the stairwell and got away. We never saw him again."

"And you still expect me to find this coin?"

"Yes," the minister replied, hopefully. "I believe in you, Miss Giovanni. You have the spirit of your grandfather within you. And…I know where in the apartment the coin is."

I didn't know how to react. Why had he dragged me through this story, calling upon my so-called amazing intuition to find some coin, only to say that he knew where it was? "What?" I asked, dumbly. "Where is it, then?"

"The coin," the minister answered, his eye shimmering. "The coin is…" I blinked. A fog seemed to haze over the minister's mouth and I didn't hear what he said. Where was this blasted coin?

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

"Of course. The c…" This time the fog enveloped the minister completely, and then swallowed the desk, until it crept eerily over every surface, distorting all.

"Sir! What's happening?" I called into the fog, but even my own voice sounded odd. "Minister Salvatore!" I couldn't see anything and then…

I fell. And kept falling. It was like I was pushed off a cliff. I shrieked as I neared the bottom, which was full of deadly spikes that looked like the metal version of French fries. I covered my face in a last chance to conceal my fate from my eyes.

"Ah!" I gasped, and stiffened. Instead of being impaled by metal spikes, I woke up in a soft, warm place. I found my fingers and moved them up and down, feeling nothing but a smooth, cotton material. I finally felt brave enough to open my eyes. When I did, I discovered that I was in my bed.

So all of that was a dream? It all seemed so incredibly real. Except for the fact that I was in Galloway, New Jersey and not Siena, Italy. Also, my Grandpa Rio was still very much alive. I was taking him for a ride today in the blue convertible he got me for my 18th birthday last week. But perhaps, the ride could wait while I ask him about if there was any truth in my dream. I had a sneaking suspicion that something, and someone, could be waiting for us in Italy.

**So, there it is. My assignment from freshman year. I remember being pleased with how well this story turned out, considering the words I had to pick from and the small page length requirement. **

**I plan on adding another assignment story of which I am also proud. I really hope you enjoyed this story. Please review!**


End file.
